Tom Swift Writer’s Notebook

There are a few things I learned right-quick in the South. Most likely the driver one car ahead aims to use a turn signal only when Johnny Law is near. I know to flip on the radio only if I’m in the mood for a song last popular in 1982. Or white-man rage about Hollywood elites jobbing our kids. And if I want some flax seed, I shouldn’t ask. No one has the first clue what it is.

I have also discovered Eudora Welty. This is a decidedly good thing. Welty grew up and lived most of her life not far from where I am temporarily planted, and that seemed a good reason to finally read her work. Didn’t take long to learn that Welty, a self-made writer, is at the top of the ladder upon which I will climb (in my dreams). Her sentences are spare and often beautiful. (”She stood still where she was, close to Jamey, and listened to the rain falling. It was so gentle. It was so full–the sound of the end of waiting.” -A Curtain of Green)

I’m amazed at how she spins similes and metaphors, so flawlessly, as though they just rolled off her tongue while she was folding the laundry. (”His eyes ached when they whirled all at once, as though a big spoon stirred them in the sunshine.” -Flowers for Marjorie)

It’s not fair that she can describe a place with one short stroke. (”A whole tree of lightning stood in the sky. She kept looking out the window, suffused with the warmth from the fire and with the pity and beauty and power of her death. The thunder rolled.” -A Piece of News)

And, to her credit, I admire how she trusts the reader, not offering a word more than necessary. That may seem obvious, but it’s enviable because my instinct is not there. (”He sat motionless beside Ellie, holding his hat in his lap with both hands–a hat you were sure he had never worn.” -The Key)

This post was added on Saturday, March 15, 2008 by Tom Swift at 09:55 and is filed under Down Dixie, Reading Material.